I've done a bunch of things so far this year in my attempt to get organized. I've tackled my closet and sorted my bags by size and type. My sweaters are neatly stacked and separated by shelf dividers. Birthday candles, skewers and coozies no longer fall on my head when I open the cabinet over the refrigerator, because those items are now in clear labeled bins. My food storage container project has been life-transforming. Pantry - check. Laundry room - check. Basement playroom - check. Kids' closets - check. There is still tons to do, but clear progress is happening.
But I know that no matter how many bins I label, no matter how many school papers make it into clearly marked folders, I'm still exactly the same scattered mess I always was, as evidenced by the fact that I can never find my keys. Ever. As in, I pretty much have to look for them every. single. time I need them. If I keep track of all of the time I spend looking for my keys, I figure by the end of my life I will have lost at least two or three months. Years ago David bought me one of those remote beepers so I could page my keys when I couldn't find them -- I don't remember how it worked or what happened to it, but here I am, years later, still losing my keys. It is awful and inexcusable. I'm pretty sure there is some kind of diagnosable condition at play here. I'm positive that truly together people always know where their keys are. The solution that David (who never loses his keys and is always terrified to loan his to me) always suggests to me: "just put them in the same place every time," sounds so simple and reasonable, but for whatever reason I can't seem to do it. I'd love to blame the kids and the general chaos that surrounds our comings and goings for this, but sadly this was a problem long before they arrived on the scene.
Anyway, so I figured that I'd close this month by snapping a quick picture of my keys while I actually know where they are.
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